Tag Archives: snippet

Amber Ruin countDown

We are at just over a month before the eighth book in The Blushing Death Series is released.

Here’s a small snippet to keep you ready. Be prepared this is adult content, a.k.a there’s are some grown up words in this snippet and if you can’t handle it, now’s the time to back out. Just saying…

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I snarled from the doorway. I’d almost refused to come out of Jade’s bathroom, but this atrocity just couldn’t stand.

“Whatever do you mean?” Jade asked, her rich, chocolate-brown eyes wide with an innocence I didn’t believe for one good-god-damned minute. She’d done this on purpose. Also, she was a horrible liar.

“Have you lost your damned mind? This dress is Beauty and the Beast on crack!” I answered, trying to find a position where the fabric didn’t irritate the hell out of my skin. This thing was like wearing sandpaper. The lemon-yellow chiffon overlay in conjunction with all the layers of tulle, and nonsense underneath made this atrocity of a dress enormous to boot. There were ruffles everywhere and I had to tilt my body just to fit through the fucking door. There was a hoop skirt for Christ’s sakes, cause, of course, there was. Not only that, I was starting to sweat. A shiver of revulsion swept over me and I squirmed as the air conditioning chilled the sweat running down my back and the fabric turned cold and clammy against my armpit. A disgusting sensation I hadn’t anticipated.

“You don’t like it?” she asked, and her voice which was usually acerbic and, well, jaded was now sugary sweet.

I glanced around the room. Alex was lounging in a chair without a care in the world. Her hair was a Smurf blue color today and spiked up into a mohawk. She wore a black T-shirt that read ‘Meh’ in bright bubblegum pink letters. Her fingers drumming on the arm of the chair made my anger prickle higher. A smirk turned up the corner of the vampire’s elven lips. God damn it, she was laughing at me.

Brittany, the resident witch who was also standing in one of these horrifying dresses, was trying very hard to look anywhere but at me. The ruffles on her shoulders and around her chest began to float as far as that seam would let them. She floated shit when her emotions were high and whatever was going on here, Brittany knew and was edgy about it.

Niyati stood in front of the full-length mirror, her gaze returning to her own reflection as she too stood engulfed in the lemon-yellow monstrosity. “I like it,” she said without guile or pretense.

“Of course, you do, love,” Alex chimed in, her tone indulgent. Niyati liked everything because she didn’t look bad in anything. Tall and slender, Niyati’s long black hair slid down the center of her back in a silken waterfall and her dark South-Asian skin appeared almost radiant against the bright yellow fabric.

Snippet – Amber Ruin

Amber Ruin is coming in October and I thought I’d give you a little glimpse into what is coming. Enjoy!

Patrick stood in our shared closet, lost. His back straight and his fingers walking across hangers, I could hear him mumbling to himself but couldn’t quite make out what he was saying. I sat on the floor with my back against the wall next to the door to our walk-in closet. Watching. This was fascinating. From the moment I’d met him, Patrick had always been perfect. He’d looked like GQ come to life and this flustered side of him was . . . cute.

“Figured it out yet?” I asked, not able to keep the smile from my lips.

“No,” he grumbled, running his hand through his thick, onyx hair. “What should I pack for this type of event?” he asked, frustration finally bleeding through.

“Jeans,” Dean called from our bedroom. He also sounded frustrated. That’s all Dean owned was jeans. Oh sure, he had a suit or two for meetings, but that was it. The moment the meeting was over, he was back in jeans and a t-shirt.

“That isn’t very helpful,” Patrick snorted.

Getting to my feet, I took the several steps to close the distance between us and wrapped my arms around his waist. I breathed in his scent of death, blood, and mysteriously . . . old books. Something in my brain clicked home. He stroked his fingers along my arm and his body relaxed against me. “You’ll be fine,” I whispered, understanding the underlying problem that he didn’t want to voice. Being mystically married, I got a little extra insight to the men I loved that normal humans didn’t get. It was really helpful to be able to see inside their soul and know what they were feeling, what they weren’t saying. Shit, I was married. Mystically or not. Sometimes it just hit me, a bolt of lightning to the brain. I was married.

Busy. Busy. Busy.

Too. Busy. For. ANYTHING!

My To Do List:

  • one book to write,
  • one book to edit,
  • seven books to review for the prism,
  • blogs to write,
  • a newsletter to write
  • a party to plan
  • a vacation to Disney to plan – okay, I secretly love this one
  • a kid that starts soccer tomorrow,
  • a house to clean,
  • dinners to make,
  • a full-time job,
  • and just about everything else you can imagine.

If you were looking for some witty repertoire or anecdote about how awesome I am . . . cause I am . . . then you are sadly mistaken.

I just don’t have it this week.

Instead, you get a free snippet from the upcoming Amber Ruin. Congratulations!

“You’re definitely getting a treat later,” I whispered. Q’ursha yipped in agreement and I gave him another scratch.

“Should I be jealous?” Dean teased.

“Dunno yet,” I said with a sly grin and Dean growled in response.

Dali reached beneath her cloak and drew out what appeared to be a feather. Long, about the length of my arm and just as wide, the plume was a rich deep red, softening to orange around the edges. Black accents in a constant pattern along the plume made the color dynamic and there at the tip, was the briefest flash of gold. Not yellow or even wheat. It glimmered. The feather was tipped with actual gold.

“What is that?” Isidro asked, a definite tone of awe to his words. The fae could do that, dangle something before you that was so beautiful you’d forget the darkness that lingered beneath the surface to swallow you whole.

“The feather of the Paskunji,” she answered, her voice just as reverent. Whatever this Paskunji was, Dali was just as impressed as Isidro was which wasn’t a good sign.

“Okay,” I said, staring at the woman, not daring to take the feather from her hand until she made it completely necessary. I’m not sure why I was so reluctant to take it from her but I knew in my gut that once I did, there was no going back.